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The Story

It was my third meeting of the morning, with as many smiles from my numbered partners. Financial forecasts and figures and spreadsheets galore. And lots of coffee, black.

My assistant popped in to hand me a stack of papers and a meadow-coloured macha. She was wearing the moonlit earrings I'd just gifted her - along with a card that read, 'The better you dress, the worse you can behave'.

They caught the sun, or maybe they were the sun. Shooting stars across the boardroom. My own personal fireworks show.

I wanted more of that.

I needed more of that.

When did we stop sparkling at noon? When did champagne toasts that tickled our nose cease to be an integral part of our day? And come to think of it, where's my damn tiara?

I don't want to be bored anymore. And I sure as hell don't want to be boring.

It's the greatest tragedy I can imagine, you know. To crave an extraordinary life, but settle for a soul-crushingly ordinary one.

I refuse to shine only on New Year's Eve. I crave stars brushing my cheeks and fizzing delightfully around my neck.

Maybe you do, too. Or maybe you just want fire accessories. I'm good with that, too.